


The Stranger

by Thomas_H_Bombadil



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Friendship, Leta Lestrange speculation, Leta actually has some positive traits, Newt is a Dork, Slow Burn Romance, because we need more newt/leta fics, hogwarts adventures, leta and newt at hogwarts, leta is a a tragic and confused person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thomas_H_Bombadil/pseuds/Thomas_H_Bombadil
Summary: Leta's the black sheep of her family and desperate to prove herself worthy of the Lestrange name. Newt is hapless, a troublemaker, and sometimes too smart for his own good. The pair fall quickly into an easy friendship during their first year at Hogwarts.Yet, right from the beginning, Newt and Leta must make bold choices about their place in the world, choices that will bring them together... or drive them apart forever.(A fic about Newt and Leta's friendship from their first meeting, through adolescence, and into early adulthood.)





	1. The Sorting

Leta sat, alone, atop her school trunk and fussed with her fingernails. Her unruly black hair had been braided into two relatively neat plaits that hung over her shoulders. She glanced around, a little nervously. 

 

At half past ten O’clock, Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters was crowded and raucous. Shouts of reunited friends rang out, along with _bangs, whizzes,_ and _pops_ from the windows of the Hogwarts Express as young wizards and witches, restricted from practicing magic during the summer months, were free to whip out their wands once more. 

 

Wizarding families from throughout the country had gathered here to see off their children to Hogwarts. Leta glanced around darkly as mothers embraced their sons and daughters before the latter boarded the train. 

 

Not far away, Leta’s own father, along with Mrs. Lestrange, were bidding farewell to Rhea. One year Leta’s senior, Rhea seemed to know _everything_ about Hogwarts, and from what Leta could tell, Rhea was quite the star at the wizarding school. Leta hadn’t heard the end of it all summer—how the sorting hat had been so quick to place Rhea in Slytherin, how good Rhea was at spells, how much her teachers favored her. Yes, Rhea was proving to be a powerful witch, indeed. Of course, that came as no surprise to Rhea’s parents. Rhea _was_ a Lestrange, after all. No less was expected of her. 

 

The praise the Lestranges had showered upon Rhea did nothing to ease Leta’s own trepidation about entering Hogwarts. She’d been taken to get her wand only a week ago, and still she was afraid to touch it. She knew she’d be called upon to cast a spell in class sooner of later. _In front of people._  

 

All week, she’d had the same nightmare. She would lift up her wand, say the incantation… then _nothing_ would happen, and a horde of blurry, multiplying faces laughed at her, before transforming into a pack of dragons shooting jets of fire. 

 

 _You got your Hogwarts letter, didn’t you?_ Leta reminded herself as her heart quickened. _And only witches and wizards get those._

 

Mr. Lestrange bent down to kiss the blond crown of Rhea’s head, and Mrs. Lestrange, just as yellow-haired as Rhea, opened her arms and held onto her daughter for a long moment. 

 

“ _Mum_ ,” said Rhea, obviously embarrassed.

 

“Oh, Rhea, stop that,” scolded Mrs. Lestrange. “I’m allowed to say a proper farewell to my daughter, aren’t I?”

 

Rhea rolled her eyes, but allowed her mother to hug her for a few more seconds. 

 

“Now,” said Mrs. Lestrange, looking her daughter in the eyes. “I don’t need to remind you of who you are. You are a Lestrange. And you are my daughter. The Lestrange's have always been the most powerful and skilled wizards and witches. A true Lestrange will uphold that reputation. Always.”

 

Mrs. Lestrange’s eyes, for a quick half-second, glanced at Leta, still sitting on her trunk in the shadows, looking on. Leta looked away quickly, as though she’d been caught prying. She felt as though a knife had been twisted into her heart. 

 

Then Rhea was boarding the train. She paused on the steps to wave back at her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange waved back. Then Rhea was gone. 

 

A long, awkward silence hung between the two adult Lestranges. At long last, Mrs. Lestrange glanced at her husband. 

 

“I take it you’ll be a few moments?” said Mrs. Lestrange in an oddly formal, almost cold, voice. 

 

“I will,” said Mr. Lestrange, equally as formal, and not looking Mrs. Lestrange in the eye.

 

“I’ll see you at home,” said Mrs. Lestrange simply, and the blond witch Disapparated. 

 

Mr. Lestrange stood alone, his back to Leta. His shoulders, square and upright only a moment ago, relaxed and sagged in his wife’s absence. He took a deep breath, then turned on his heel to face his daughter. 

 

“Come here, Leta,” he commanded. 

 

Dutifully, Leta rose from her trunk and approached her father. His face, handsome, and framed by a well-groomed, black beard, studied her. Leta stared at her feet. 

 

“Look at me,” he said. 

 

Leta managed to settle her gaze somewhere around her father’s tie, but she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. 

 

“I said, look at me.” Her father grabbed her roughly by chin and turned her face upwards. She looked into his icy eyes. Her heart was hammering. 

 

“You’re nervous,” said Mr. Lestrange. It was a statement, not a question. Leta shrugged. “You know why you were given the name Lestrange?” 

 

“No,” said Leta, barely above a whisper. She had always felt like an imposter with that name, had always been made to _feel_ like an imposter. 

 

“Because you’re my daughter,” said Mr. Lestrange. “That makes you a Lestrange, whether or not others like it. Now remember, Leta. The name Lestrange is not thrown around lightly. We’ve kept that name proud and pure for centuries. It must be cared for. You understand?”

 

Leta understood. Her father was asking her not to embarrass the family. Fat chance. She wished she could make the Lestrange family proud, be a good witch, be sorted into Slytherin, just like Rhea. But her very _existence_ was a bit of an embarrassment for the first place, and Leta had understood that from a young age—Rhea had always made her position abundantly clear. 

 

Then, Leta plucked up the courage to ask the question she’d been mulling all morning as she nervously picked at her fingernails. 

 

“Was my mother a Muggle?” she asked her father. 

 

A barely-perceptible tightness passed across Mr. Lestrange’s face. Leta could hardly blink. _Everything_ depended on what her father said next. Her father looked at her curiously. 

 

“It matters a great deal to you, doesn’t it?”

 

“Rhea… Rhea said it matters to the Sorting Hat,” mumbled Leta. “That… that Slytherin won’t take me if my mother was a Muggle, or a Squib, or a half-breed…”

 

A rare and sudden gentleness softened Mr. Lestrange’s face. He bent to a crouch so he could look Leta in the eye. He reached out a large hand and cupped her cheek. Leta couldn’t help but lean into the rare show of physical affection.

 

“It’s true that your mother had no magic,” said Mr. Lestrange. Leta’s stomach turned over at his words, and tears filled her eyes. “But you _are_ a witch, Leta, and a Lestrange. You got all of that from me, understand? I won’t lie to you girl, it’s not going to be easy. You’re going to have to work harder than any other witch or wizard. But even Salazar Slytherin recognized that greatness could, at times, come from… less desirable places.”

 

There was a long silence between them. Leta wiped her eyes on the sleeves of her robes. She was embarrassed to have cried in front of her father. Yet, a strange sort of relief seemed to flood her. She’d been dreading for so long to hear that her mother had, in fact, been a Muggle. And now that she’d heard the truth, she felt… oddly calm. 

 

“Now, you had better board the train before it leaves without you.”

 

“Yes, father,” said Leta. 

 

She grabbed the handle of her trunk and dragged it across the platform. When she reached the steps, she turned back to look at her father, to give him a parting wave as Rhea had done, but he was already gone. 

 

* * *

 

All around her on the train, fellow First Years shouted excitedly. One compartment she passed was full to the brim with no less than a dozen eleven-year-old witches and wizards in fresh, black Hogwarts robes, all eagerly exchanging names, sweets, and boasting about the spells they’d already learned. 

 

Leta wanted to be alone. She didn’t want to have to introduce herself to anyone as “Leta, the _kind-of_ Lestrange, half-breed, embarrassment to one of the oldest wizarding families”. Older students roamed the narrow corridor, knocking into Leta’s shoulders and paying her no mind as she struggled with her trunk. She pushed through the raucous center of the train and found a compartment to herself by the end. 

 

With tremendous effort, she shoved the trunk under the seat and morosely stared out the window as the Hogwarts Express pulled from the station. She rested her small chin in her hands as the scene before her changed from the smoggy, jagged inner-city of London to green pasture and farmland. 

 

Occasionally, a little voice reminded her of what was to come that evening—the Sorting, and she would grow nervous again. She was doomed. She didn’t believe her father. There was no way Slytherin House would accept a nervous-wreck half-breed like her. 

 

The door to her compartment jiggled open, and a small, freckly First Year with messy ginger-brown hair toppled inside. He was dressed in a grubby brown overcoat that seemed several sizes too big for him. The hem scraped the floor, and the sleeves covered his finger tips. 

 

“Sorry, are these seats taken?” asked the boy, nervously looking over his shoulder. 

 

“Sit wherever you like,” said Leta, a little annoyed that her solitude was interrupted. 

 

“Oh. Thanks,” said the boy, not registering the annoyance in Leta’s voice. 

 

He took a seat across from her. Leta regarded him. She couldn’t have, in truth, told him the seats were occupied, but she was hoping this boy would take the hint that she wanted to be alone. However, the boy seemed to have other things on his mind, for he shifted and squirmed in his seat. 

 

“Settle down, _please_ ,” he whispered, tucking his head under the collar of the ridiculously oversized coat. 

 

“Are you talking to me?” said Leta, perplexed. 

 

“Er, n-no,” said the boy. He smiled nervously, and looked around the compartment. He looked as though he were trying very hard to act casually. And he was doing a terrible job of it—his eyes darted around too much. Leta decided to ignore him and return to brooding out the window. But the boy spoke up. 

 

“Are you a First Year as well?”

 

Leta nodded. 

 

“Are you nervous about the Sorting?” asked the boy. “I was just up the train. It’s all anyone’s talking about…”

 

Leta’s stomach flipped at the mention of the Sorting. Indeed, she’d thought of little else since parting from her father. 

 

“My brother’s a Gryffindor,” said the boy, “so I might be as well. Everyone seems to think that’s the best house.”

 

Leta snorted at that. 

 

“You sure it wasn’t just a lot of Gryffindors saying that?” Leta shot back. Internally, she knew that if the Hat chose her for Gryffindor, she’d be _finished_. 

 

The boy shrugged, and cracked a smile. “Ah, might’ve been. I’m Newt Scamander, by the way.”

 

He held out a hand for her to shake. A little distrustfully, Leta took it. She frowned. His palm was clutching a sandpapery owl treat. 

 

“Oh, sorry,” said Newt Scamander, blushing. He shoved his hand into the front breast pocket of his coat, and Leta could have sworn she heard a cooing and then a loud crunching noise from inside the boy’s coat. “Forgot I was holding that. What’s your name?”

 

“Leta… Leta Lestrange,” she told him, wincing a little on her surname. 

 

“Lestrange?” said the boy, his eyes widening. His mouth opened and closed several times. She got the sense there was a lot the boy could have said. Thankfully he held his tongue.

 

“What have you got in there?” said Leta, nodding at the Newt’s coat, eager to break the awkward silence. “An owl?”

 

“Yes,” Newt said, a little to slowly to be convincing. “Just my owl.”

 

“Well,” said Leta. “I’m just hoping it’ll be Slytherin for me.”

 

“Is… is all your family in Slytherin?” asked Newt. 

 

“Yes,” said Leta. “Well, at least nobody talks about the ones who weren’t. They’ll probably disown me if I’m not.” 

 

“It’s that important to your family that you’re in Slytherin?” asked Newt, flabbergasted. “That they’ll stop talking to you if you’re not? That seems ridiculous.”

 

Leta stared at him. 

 

“Sorry,” said Newt. The boy looked around, embarrassed. He stared out the window, unblinking. 

 

Leta suddenly burst out laughing. 

 

“No, it _is_ ridiculous. You’re right.”

 

Newt whipped his head back at her, surprised. He chanced a smile. 

 

“Well, everyone makes fun of Hufflepuff, but my mum was a Hufflepuff, and she knows everything there is to know about Hippogriffs. I don’t think Hufflepuff would be too bad—“

 

The door to the compartment opened again, and a blond Second Year with a rather heavy jaw glared inside. Rhea. 

 

“Oh, there you are, Leta,” said Rhea, sounding bored. “Father said I had to make sure you found a seat. So here I am. Though the toilet would suit you better.” 

 

Newt’s eyes swiveled curiously between Rhea and Leta. 

 

“Making friends?” said Rhea. Her voice bordered on a sneer. “You’ll want to watch out for this one,” said Rhea, speaking to Newt rather than Leta. “She’s nothing but trouble. And she’s probably a Squib. Don’t get too attached—they’ll be sending her back on the train tonight when they find out she hasn’t got any magic.”

 

Leta glowered back at her older half-sister. Her face was on fire. Newt’s eyebrows drew together. 

 

“They don’t accept Squibs to Hogwarts,” said Newt matter-of-factly. “What would be the point of that?”

 

Rhea’s lip curled in answer. She looked at Newt and Leta haughtily before slamming the door shut behind her. 

 

Leta looked back at the boy in a new light. He hadn’t recoiled when Rhea had appeared and called her a Squib. In fact, he’d stood up for her. Despite his messy hair, wild eyes, and oversized coat, she felt a sudden warmth for the boy seated across from her.

 

“Sister?” asked Newt. 

 

“Yes,” said Leta in a pained voice. Noticing the confusion in Newt’s face, she continued. “Well, half-sister really, and that’s why we look nothing alike.” 

 

Leta winced. It always had to be so painfully obvious. She was as dark as Rhea was light. Though there may be a trace of her father somewhere in her features, it was always obvious to everyone that Leta was no true daughter of Mrs. Lestrange. Her birth had been quite a scandal and had been Leta’s lifelong burden. 

 

Newt had pulled a wand from his sleeve. He waved it back and forth, mouthing an incantation under his breath. 

 

“What are you doing?” asked Leta. 

 

“Practicing,” said Newt. 

 

“We haven’t even had our first class yet,” said Leta.

 

“I know…” said Newt, “But well, my older brother taught me a few spells over the summer, right after I got my wand. Figured it couldn’t hurt to get a head start.”

 

“I thought we weren’t supposed to practice magic outside of school!” said Leta, scandalized. 

 

She thought nervously to her own untouched wand. It suddenly occurred to her that she’d be the only First Year to start school without knowing any spells… Maybe she was a Squib after all. Her mother _had_ been a Muggle, after all. What if she got to the Sorting, and they figured out it was all some big mistake? She was never meant to get a letter… Rhea was right. They’d be sending her right back on the train.  

 

Newt shrugged. He seemed not to notice Leta’s ruminating. 

 

“The Levitation Charm,” he said. “It’s supposed to be one of the most basic spells. Most other locomotive charms are built on the same theory, so if you can master Levitation, you can do almost anything. Look…”

 

He eagerly reached into his oversized coat and extracted a heavy tomb which proclaimed _The Care and Feeding of Hippogriffs by Lawrence Addlebury_ in large gold letters. He placed it on the seat next to him, cleared his throat. 

 

“ _Wingardium leviosa_!” he proclaimed, waving his wand in a calculated loop. 

 

The book shot up like a cork and stuck to the ceiling as if glued. 

 

“Oh dear,” said Newt. 

 

“Was it supposed to do that?” asked Leta, concerned. 

 

“Um… yes? Except, I think it worked a little _too_ well…”

 

“Is it ever going to come down?” asked Leta with trepidation. The book was now sliding along the ceiling overhead, like some odd rat searching for food. Instinctively, Leta covered her head, lest the book should fall on her. 

 

Newt stowed his wand and climbed up on the seat. He strained, and tried to peel the book from the ceiling, but the book, having been granted it’s first taste of life without gravity, seemed to have decided that it much preferred this new arrangement. Newt hung from the book by his hands, his legs kicking freely into the air as the book roamed along the ceiling. Leta ducked to avoid him.  

 

The compartment door once more slid open. 

 

“Newt!” 

 

“Er, hello, Theseus.”

 

A handsome Fifth Year with a shiny Prefect badge stood in the threshold. He wore a shocked expression on his face. 

 

“What have you done now?”

 

“Just practicing!” said Newt innocently, still dangling from the ceiling. The book jerked him around, trying to shake him off.

 

Theseus shook his head, exasperated. 

 

“ _Finite incantetum_ ," said Theseus, waving his own wand. The book and Newt alike dropped heavily to the floor.  

 

“Ouch,” said Newt, rubbing the back of his head where it had collided with the seat. He struggled to disentangle himself from his oversized coat where he had fallen on the floor. 

 

Theseus pulled him up by the scruff of his neck. Newt looked guilty. 

 

“This is mum’s work coat,” said Theseus, pulling at the brown fabric draping the boy’s small shoulders. 

 

“She said I could have it for Herbology,” said Newt defensively. 

 

Theseus pinched the bridge of his nose. He was the very picture of exasperation. 

 

“Alright. Pockets out. Who’ve you brought?”

 

“No one,” said Newt. 

 

“It’s the Fwooper, isn’t it?”

 

Newt opened and closed his mouth a few times. 

 

“He’s _sick_ , Theseus! I had to bring him! It’ll only be a few more weeks before the bone heals. Then I’ll send him home. Please, he won’t let anyone but me get close to him to change the bandage—”

 

Theseus shook his head. Without warning, the Prefect’s hand shot into the front of Newt’s coat and emerged with a spindly silver cage containing the most brilliant turquoise bird Leta had ever seen. The younger boy looked quite terrified. 

 

“A Fwooper is not allowed as a pet at Hogwarts!” said Theseus. “You know how dangerous these things are!”

 

“Yes, but I’ve learned the silencing charm—it won’t harm anyone!” argued Newt. “Look I’ll show you—“

 

Newt whipped out his wand, but Theseus snatched the wand from his brother’s hand before Newt could do any more damage with charms. 

 

“I’ll have to send for mother as soon as we get to Hogwarts,” said Theseus. “She won’t like this. Honestly, Newt, your first day. You’re lucky it was me, or you’d be getting detention before even getting to Hogwarts!”

 

There was quite a lot more arguing, but in the end, Theseus won, and he left the compartment with Newt’s coat, wand, and Fwooper.

 

“So sorry about all this,” said Theseus on his way out. He flashed a friendly smile to Leta. “Welcome to Hogwarts, by the way! I hope my brother’s not a bother to you.”

 

“Not at all,” said Leta shyly.

 

Theseus left. 

 

Newt looked very downcast. Leta realized, with some embarrassment, that the boy was crying. She was overtaken by a sudden urge to make him feel better. She couldn’t explain it. 

 

“That’s more magic than I can do,” said Leta softly. “I haven’t done a single spell.”

 

“Why not?” asked the boy, wiping his eyes. He looked a little embarrassed to be crying in front of her.

 

“Well,” said Leta downcast. “I’m frightened to find out that Rhea’s right. That I’m a Squib after all.”

 

“You can’t be a Squib, or you wouldn’t have gotten your Hogwarts letter. Haven’t you ever done magic without meaning to? I thought all magical children did,” said Newt. “I mean, _I_ certainly did.” This new problem to solve seemed to have taken his mind off Theseus and the Fwooper. 

 

Leta stared at her hands. All she could remember was a teacup being hurled at Rhea’s head one time, when Rhea had tormented her. But in truth, Leta could not remember if she’d thrown the teacup with magic… or her own hands. 

 

“I don’t really know.”

 

“Well. Levitation is really easy. I can show you, if you like.”

 

Nervously, Leta nodded, and extracted her wand from her pocket and held it like it was going to bite her. 

 

“It’s best to start with something light,” said Newt. “That’s what my brother said.” He pulled a loose Fwooper feather from his pocket. He looked at it sadly, as if remembering the bird Theseus had claimed, and set it down before Leta. “You can use that. The spell is _wingardium leviosa_. And it’s important to say it exactly like that.”

 

“ _Wingardium leviosa_ ,” repeated Leta with an unsure flick of her wand. 

 

The feather flipped over feebly, but did not levitate. 

 

Newt’s eyes brightened. 

 

“See, that’s a start!” he exclaimed. 

 

“It was just the wind,” said Leta. 

 

“The window’s closed,” said Newt flatly. “Look, it’s a bit tricky. Took me days to work out. But you just did magic, Leta! I mean, it wasn’t very _good_. But you’re definitely not a Squib.”

 

“No,” said Leta, feeling her face grow warm. A huge grin overtook her, and she couldn’t stop smiling at Newt. “No, I suppose I’m not!”

 

* * *

 

Leta and Newt passed the hours easily together. Newt told her all about his family. His brother, the Prefect, well-liked, a Gryffindor, and a Beater on the Quidditch team. His mother, a Hippogriff breeder, who now and again took in other magical creatures in need of respite. And his father, a quiet man with a fondness for Muggle contraptions. Newt had spent his childhood roaming around his family’s land, getting up to his knees in muck as he collected Horklump samples. He had a tendency to ramble, but Leta hung on to every word. 

 

It occurred to her: she had never talked at such great length with _anyone_. No one had ever seemed interested in listening to her before. Words pent up over years welled out at her, and Newt was patient. He listened. 

 

Leta told him about her childhood, which had been quiet and isolated on her family’s estate. The older Lestrange siblings were all grown by the time Leta and Rhea had been brought up; the two girls, so close in age, had spent their childhoods at odds with each other. Rhea was the golden child, and Leta, the illegitimate Lestrange, cast aside, hidden, and usually ignored. 

 

Leta told Newt how she often took to herself in the woods on her family’s property. She knew the woods well, and Rhea could never find her there. She liked the quiet, and she liked to hear the birdsongs. Newt asked her if any of the birds in the woods were magical, and Leta told him that she had never thought to investigate. 

 

Their arrival at Hogwarts went by in a blur. For a few hours on the train, Leta forgot her worries about the impending sorting, but as the boats crossed the lake towards Hogwarts castle, a knot formed in her stomach. Newt, however, seemed entirely relaxed about the whole situation. 

 

“What do you think’s down there?” Newt asked Leta with wonder, leaning over the side of the boat, staring into the inky-black surface of the lake.

 

“Not anything of your concern,” said a Prefect who had joined the boat escort, hauling Newt by the collar from the edge of the boat. 

 

The first years were lined up in the Great Hall, and names were called one by one. Leta stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Newt as First Years were called to the Hat. 

 

“Leta Lestrange!”

 

A hush seemed to go through the hall at Leta’s name. Leta should have expected it. The Lestranges were a well known family, and the circumstances of Leta’s birth were rather scandalous and not exactly a secret. 

 

Newt elbowed her, and she realized she’d frozen. Nervously, she crossed the hall. She could feel hundreds of eyes watch her. With each step, however, she felt herself gain power, and held her head higher and higher until she reached the stool at the front of the Great Hall.

 

Professor Wrench, the Deputy Headmaster, dropped the Sorting Hat over her head and plunged her into darkness. 

 

“Well, well, well,” said a sly little voice in her ear. “Quite the bundle of nerves _you_ are. Are you sure Slytherin is the place for you?”

 

 _All Lestranges go to Slytherin_ , she thought _._

 

“You seek acceptance,” said the Hat. “You won’t find that in Slytherin, I can promise you that…”

 

 _Acceptance? What’ll my father do if I’m_ not _in Slytherin! He’ll throw me out!_

 

“Hm… Let’s see. You have within you… compassion. Yes, quite a lot of compassion. You would do well in Hufflepuff, you know. And if it’s acceptance you seek, I daresay you’ll find it there.”

 

_Not Hufflepuff! Never Hufflepuff!_

 

“Not Hufflepuff? It’ll be a hard road for you in Slytherin. Are you sure it’s worth it?”

 

 _Slytherin,_ thought Leta, near panic. _I have to be in Slytherin._

 

“Are you sure?” said the Hat. “There’s no backsies, you know. Truly? Well, so be it. SLYTHERIN!”

 

Leta could have laughed out loud as Professor Wrench pulled the hat from her head. There was some applause, but more murmuring. Leta held her head high as she crossed to the Slytherin table and took a seat. People could talk all they wanted… her place had been secured. 

 

Leta’s eyes locked with Rhea’s for a moment. Rhea looked at her coldly, then whispered in the ear of the girl next to her. The whispers passed down the Slytherin table, and soon, no one at the table was looking at Leta. The two students on either side of her shifted a little further down the bench. 

 

Newt Scamander’s name was called, and the small boy stumbled out of line. The hat took a few seconds with him before crying “HUFFLEPUFF!”. 

 

There was a lukewarm applause as Newt made his way to the Hufflepuff table. On his way, he caught Leta’s eye and smiled slightly. Leta’s elation evaporated. She stared at the table before her… wondering suddenly if she’d made a mistake. 

 


	2. Charms

Leta kept her head low as she stalked down the deserted corridor, her thoughts stormy. She clutched her books close to her chest like a shield. She was far too early for Charms class—she wasn’t due to Professor Wingknot’s class for another half an hour. Still, she knew she’d be blissfully left alone as she waited by the corridor. 

 

Well, being left alone wasn’t really the problem. In the week since she’d arrived at Hogwarts, she’d but nothing _but_ left alone. The problem was _how_ she’d been left alone. No one in Slytherin House spoke a word _to_ her, but she always felt there were eyes on her, and her sharp ears often caught snickers and remarks containing her name. 

 

In the First Year girl’s dormitory, her cohort had all struck up quick friendships. The second night at Hogwarts, the girls had built a blanket fort and stayed up all night chatting and eating candy, and making rude jokes about their professors. Not one of the girls asked Leta to join. She had stuffed her head under her pillow in a hopeless attempt to muffle their voices. 

 

Leta would eat breakfast alone each morning as students around her chatted and read their owls from home. One morning, Leta spotted a familiar brown-spotted owl—one of her father’s—deliver a letter to Rhea. Leta had scowled. Leta’s father had yet to write to his second daughter. Leta wondered if she should write Father a letter herself… after all, most of her classmates seemed to write home regularly. But some stubbornness made her resist. She didn’t want to write to her father unless he wrote to her first. 

 

Leta sat at the feet of a statue of a very fat wizard just outside the door to the Charms classroom. Voices drifted through the door—a class was still going on. Leta sighed. 

 

“Oy!” said an annoyed voice. “What’s so miserable about _your_ life?” 

 

Leta startled, and looked up. The fat statue was sneering at her, and it was he who’d spoken. Leta’s heartbeat gradually slowed. Hogwarts had its quirks, Leta was learning, and you could never count on being quite alone, even if you only had a painting, or a ghost, or, apparently, a statue, for company. 

 

“I see _your_ sort all the time,” drawled the statue. “Moping here, scowling there. Woe is me! It’s not so bad, you know. I used to be quite the adventurer. Travelled all of Britain, in my day. Invented five-score spells, I did! Now I’m frozen here, for eternity, cursed to look upon the sullen faces of your lot. You haven’t the right to mope.”

 

Leta didn’t know what to say. 

 

“Now budge off!” shouted the statue. 

 

Leta jumped and gathered up her books. The point was taken. She crossed the corridor and leaned up against the wall. The statue, though unmoving, seemed to follow her with his gaze. Leta scowled. 

 

Suddenly, an explosion, like a strong roll of thunder, and several high-pitched shrieks came from the Charms classroom. The door burst open from the force of it. Leta warily peered inside. 

 

Three school desks lay in splintered piles on the floor. Most of the students were sheltering beneath the remaining desks, with two exceptions: a girl with bright orange hair ran around the classroom shrieking, chased by a flock of self-propelled feathers; and a boy—Newt Scamander, who Leta had sat with on the train—stood in the midst of the wreckage, frantically apologizing. 

 

Professor Wingknot’s clear voice rose up above the raucous. “Everyone, remain calm! There is nothing to worry about!”

 

Meanwhile, the flock of puffy, white feathers had tackled the girl; she rolled around on the ground, laughing hysterically as the feathers tickled every inch of her they could find. 

 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll fix it!” said a panicked Newt, raising his wand. 

 

“You will do no such thing, boy!” roared Professor Wingknot, a wiry and wizened old man. The professor waved his own wand. The feathers ceased their tickling and gently, innocently, floated to the ground. “Ms. Amory, are you quite alright, or do you require a visit to the Hospital Wing?”

 

The red-haired girl, quite shaken, slowly rose to her feet. 

 

“No, I’m _fine_ ,” she said, brushing herself off and throwing an angry look at Newt, who shrank into himself. 

 

The old professor ran a hand through his bushy hair and sighed. “Well, I think that’s enough for today. Class dismissed. And I think—given the events of today—it appropriate to ask all of you to re-read the chapter on the Levitation Charm before our next lesson. I’ll expect a scroll of parchment from each of you discussing the theory behind the spell, as I can clearly see it needs some review.”

 

The class groaned, and many of the students shot annoyed looks at Newt, blaming him for the extra schoolwork. The Hufflepuff students emerged from under their desks, gathered their books, quills and parchments, and filed out of the classroom past Leta. 

 

“Mr. Scamander, I’d like a word.” 

 

Leta hovered by the door, watching the Hufflepuffs leave. Inside the classroom, Newt shuffled his feet and fussed with his wand. 

 

“I-I’ll help you tidy up,” said Newt. Then he quickly added, again, “I’m sorry.” 

 

“There will be no need for that, my boy,” said Professor Wingknot patiently. The old wizard cast his wand gracefully, and the desks reformed themselves. The feathers, scattered around the room, flew through the air like little doves and arranged themselves in the neat pile on Wingknot’s desk. 

 

“Charms,” said Professor Wingknot, his voice rather kindly. “The most useful branch of magic, in my opinion, which is why I have devoted my life to studying it. Though I daresay it requires quite a bit more… _finesse_ than certain other branches of the magical arts.” 

 

“Yes,” said Newt, sounding perplexed. “I did try to get a head start on learning Charms the summer before school.”

 

“Ah, did you?” said Professor Wingknot, sounding amused. “Well, I can see you have quite a bit of talent, my boy, even if it doesn’t seem so right now. I’ve had many students like you before.” The Professor leaned forward, smiling, conspiratorial. “You’re not the first to wreak a bit of havoc in their first Charms lesson.” 

 

“I’m not?” asked Newt, looking distressed. 

 

“Of course not. Don’t dwell on it. I once had a young witch grace this very classroom many years ago. Had a very similar first attempt at Levitation, and she went on to become quite an accomplished Charms practitioner.”

 

Newt looked hopeful at this. Wingknot looked up and saw Leta looking on in the doorway. Newt spotted her too, and his face turned red. 

 

“Ah, Ms…?” said Wingknot. 

 

“Lestrange,” said Leta, smiling weakly. 

 

“Ah, Ms. Lestrange. Slytherin, if I’m not mistaken?”

 

Leta nodded. 

 

“You’re very early,” Wingknot remarked, checking a golden pocket watch. 

 

Leta shrugged. “I just didn’t want to be late.”

 

Wingknot chuckled. “Ha! We’ll see if you have that same spirit a month from now. Even the best students grow tardy as the year wears on! Now, off with you, Scamander!” 

 

“Yes, Professor. Sir.” 

 

Newt nervously gathered up his belongings and emerged into the hallway.  

 

“Hello, Leta,” he said bashfully as he passed her. 

 

“What was all that about?” following him. 

 

“Oh, just… you know…” 

 

They hovered together a few feet from the fat statue. 

 

“So we’re learning Levitation today?” said Leta. She nervously thought back to her own poor attempt at the spell on the Hogwarts Express. 

 

“Yes,” said Newt, wincing. “But I doubt your class will go as badly as mine.”

 

“It seems like you overdid it a bit,” Leta commented softly. 

 

“I guess you could put it like that. I really thought I’d had the hang of it.” 

 

Leta shrugged. “The professor said he thinks you’ve got a talent for Charms, though.” Her heart sank. “I wish I had _any_ professor saying I had a talent for anything. I might as well be a Squib.”

 

“Why do you keep saying that?” said Newt. He sounded oddly annoyed. “You keep calling yourself a Squib.”

 

Leta opened and closed her mouth a few times. She felt a sudden rush of anger. In truth, this was the first time since the Hogwarts Express she had spoken with Newt. Since being sorted into different Houses, they hadn’t had a chance to speak since the Feast, though Leta had, of course, noticed Newt in the Great Hall at meal times. 

 

“I do _not_ keep calling myself a Squib,” said Leta defensively. 

 

“Well, sorry… it’s just that… well, you sort of _do_ ,” said Newt flustered. “At least, you did on the train, and you’re doing it again now. We’ve only been at school a week. And you can do magic. I saw it myself.” 

 

Leta was about to retort angrily, but instead, she burst into tears. Big, wet, ugly tears. And her nose started running, too. Newt watched her, clutching his books, terrified. Leta turned away and buried her face in her sleeve. The sobs came out of her loudly, and she couldn’t control them. 

 

“Leta—“

 

“Leave me alone!” she shouted. She faced the wall, crying. She stood there for a long time, and when the tears finally stopped, she looked over her shoulder, and Newt was gone. 

 

She regretted shouting at him. He hadn’t meant anything by it. And he was the only other student who’d actually spoken to her since she had arrived. Fat chance he’d want to speak to her now…

 

Leta heard the voices of approaching Slytherins and she dried her eyes as best she could on her robe, sniffling. The students strolled into the hallway, approaching the Charms classroom. Leta turned away from them as they filed into the classroom so they wouldn’t see that her eyes were red from crying. 

 

* * *

 

Leta’s day had not improved following her Charms lesson. She slipped into the Great Hall amidst a rush of students and dropped her books heavily at the table. Lunch materialized on platters before her. She angrily grabbed a chicken leg and a spoonful of potatoes. But she didn’t take a bite. In truth, she wasn’t hungry. She glared at her food. 

 

She sensed someone standing over her, and she looked up to see her half-sister, Rhea. 

 

“Heard your first Charms class went well,” said Rhea sarcastically. A few other Slytherin girls, Rhea’s cronies, stood at her shoulder. 

 

“That’s not what I heard!” said one of them. 

 

“I heard she couldn’t even make a feather levitate,” said another. 

 

There were a few more remarks, some laughter, and Leta heard the word “Squib” in there. She wanted to hold her head up high, to let their remarks simply roll off her, but she couldn’t help it, she shrank into herself.  

 

“Oy! Lay off her, Rhea!” said a Third Year boy from further down the bench. “She’s just a First Year. It takes plenty of witches and wizards time to get the hang of it.” 

 

Leta looked up at the boy, stunned. The boy had pale blond hair and a rather pointy nose. Leta was stunned that he was jumping to her defense. For a brief second, the sneering smile slid from Rhea’s face, but she recovered it quickly. 

 

“You could say that about a _Hufflepuff_ , surely,” said Rhea, and there was another bout of laughter. A ghost of a smile even twitched onto the blond Third Year’s face. “But not a Slytherin.” 

 

Leta murmured something. 

 

“Sorry, what was that?” said Rhea. “I’m not a _what_?”

 

Leta spoke again, louder, and through gritted teeth. “I. Am not. A Squib.” 

 

Rhea’s grin only deepened. She reached into the pocket of her robe and procured a handsome black quill. She dropped it on the table in front of Leta. 

 

“Not a Squib? Then prove it. Here, I brought a feather for you to demonstrate with.” 

 

The scene was beginning to attract attention. Already, half the Slytherin table was looking on curiously.

 

“I’m not going to do magic now, Rhea. I’m eating,” said Leta firmly. Her face was burning up. “Leave me alone.” 

 

“That sounds like something a Squib would say,” said Rhea, and the girls at her shoulders giggled. 

 

Leta felt the anger rise up inside her. She had to get out of the Great Hall. Now. Before she lashed out. Without saying another word, Leta gathered up her books and fled. She made it to the door just before the tears came. 

 

She walked and walked, scarcely paying attention to where she was going, until at last she believed herself to be alone. She collapsed on the floor of a narrow deserted corridor and sobbed into her sleeve. 

 

It was _wrong_. It was all wrong! It was bad enough she seemingly couldn’t produce any magic. It was even worse that Rhea kept tormenting her about it. Perhaps she was never meant to come to Hogwarts. Perhaps she’d have been better off with a Muggle mother, and had never been given the name Lestrange. She didn’t belong here, at Hogwarts…

 

“Leta…?” said a soft voice. 

 

Leta looked up. A small figure in too-big robes stood in the corridor. Newt. Leta didn’t say anything. Newt approached her slowly. Quietly, Newt crouched at her side. 

 

There was a heavy silence between them, filled only by Leta’s sobs, which she was far beyond being embarrassed over.  

 

“What are you doing here?” asked Leta. 

 

Newt looked uncomfortable, and a bit terrified. 

 

“I saw you run out of the Great Hall,” he said simply. “So I followed you.”

 

“Oh,” said Leta. Everything was terrible, and bleak, and entirely sideways… but she felt the tiniest sliver of warmth return to her at Newt’s words. He had _followed_ her. 

 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” said Newt. 

 

“What are you sorry for?” said Leta, perplexed. 

 

“Well, I said something,” said Newt, in a very reasonable voice, “And then you started crying, so I think whatever I said was unkind.” 

 

Leta smiled at him weakly. 

 

“It’s not what you said. Not really. It’s just… Rhea keeps saying I’m a Squib, and I can’t seem to prove her wrong. Maybe she _is_ right. Maybe I really am a Squib and they ought to send me to live with the Muggles.” 

 

“Well,” said Newt, brightly. “They haven’t expelled you yet! And I reckon the professors can spot witches and wizards better than your sister can.”

 

“Half-sister,” Leta corrected him. She frowned. “I always knew I wasn’t really a Lestrange… it’s embarrassing, really. They say my father had a… a thing with another woman. My mother. And he brought me home to live with him. Rhea’s mother was never happy about that. She was always very unhappy that my father called me ‘Lestrange’. And so was Rhea. I never knew my mother. Father wouldn’t tell me who she was, and no one else seemed to know.” 

 

Newt listened quietly. There was no judgement in his face, and so Leta continued. 

 

“But it wasn’t until my grandfather died I had any reason to believe my mother was anything other than a witch. It was a year ago. I was at his deathbed.” 

 

“His deathbed?” said Newt. 

 

“Yes,” explained Leta. “He was dying.” 

 

“I know what a deathbed is.” 

 

“Oh. Right. Well, it was at his deathbed and the whole family was gathered around to hear his last words. It was _awful_. Have you ever seen someone die?”

 

Newt shrugged. “Never a person.” 

 

“Well, my grandfather really started ranting toward the end. And he started talking about how much of an embarrassment I was. With the whole rest of the family around! I wished I was the one dying! I mean… it was never really something we talked about in the family… I knew it was not considered _proper_ that father had me with another woman. But then Grandfather called me a Half Breed…”

 

Leta’s voice trailed off. She shook her head. 

 

“It took me a whole year to work up the courage to ask Father about it. But he admitted it. My mother was not a witch.” 

 

Newt looked troubled. 

 

“Your grandfather shouldn’t have called you that,” he said quietly. 

 

“But it’s true,” argued Leta. “I am a Half Breed. And that explains why I can’t do magic.” 

 

“My mother hates that word,” said Newt. “She’s says ancestry isn’t the best predictor of magical ability.” 

 

Leta looked at Newt a little pityingly. She’d always been aware of those oddball witches and wizards who couldn’t understand the basic principals of bloodlines. After all, how on earth could you have magic if you hadn’t gotten it from your ancestors? It didn’t make any sense. Newt may think highly of his mother, but Leta knew she was misguided. And perhaps Newt was as well…

 

“Were you there when he died?” asked Newt. “I mean, in the room?”

 

“Yes,” said Leta, shuddering at the memory. “It was terrible.” 

 

But Newt’s eyes had brightened. 

 

“Well, if you saw him die, then—!”

 

“Yes. As I said, it was terrible.” 

 

“Leta,” said Newt, looking a bit mad now. “Do you know what a Thestral is?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this far! If you liked what you read, please leave a comment below! I hope the next update is a bit faster.


	3. Apples

Newt led the way across the grounds, and Leta followed him. 

 

“Newt, I have Potions at Four O’clock…” 

 

“This won’t take long!” called Newt over his shoulder. “Besides, you have hours, and it’s a beautiful day outside.”

 

Newt was perfectly correct, on both counts. 

 

Leta had scarcely left the castle since arriving. It wasn’t as though she was in class all day, but traversing the castle seemed to take as much time as the classes themselves. And of course, there were piles of school work, and three meals a day to attend to. It didn’t leave a lot of time for exploring the grounds. The faintest bite of autumn set a refreshing chill on Leta’s cheeks. 

 

“Come on!” Newt urged her on. He had a quick stride, and Leta had a hard time keeping up. She hurried up to the top of a hill, where Newt stood waiting for her. 

 

“The Forbidden Forest,” he pronounced, surveying the dark tree line below. 

 

“Yes. I think they call it that because it’s forbidden. As in, we’re not allowed to go in. As in Professor Black definitely told us that we’re not allowed to go in.”

 

“We’re just going to the edge,” reasoned Newt. “I mean, it’s not as if the boundary is very clear, anyway…”

 

“You mean it’s not clear where all the trees start?” said Leta, aghast. 

 

“Well, there’s this tree right next to us. Does that count as the forest already? I hardly think so. Who’s to say where the forest really begins?” 

 

Leta stared at him. Newt was being entirely serious. Leta didn’t have time to form an argument before Newt said “Come on!” and charged forward down the hill. Leta hesitated, but continued after him. 

 

The two of them entered the woods together. The trees here were gnarled, old, and cast dark shadows. Leta glanced around warily, blinking quickly—her eyes were slow to adjust to the sudden darkness. Even Newt seemed a little on edge. 

 

“They like to graze on the edge of forests,” said Newt in a hushed voice. “So this is the best place to spot them, if we can.” 

 

“So you agree—this _is_ the edge of the forest?” said Leta, just as quietly. 

 

Newt stared at her. A smile twitched onto his face. 

 

“We’re not going to get caught if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, we’ll nip back in a bit…” 

 

“I’m not worried about Professor Black’s rules. Or detention,” Leta told him. She jumped a little—she thought she saw a suspicious shadow dart beneath a distant bow. It was just a branch swaying in the breeze. “…I’m worried the rules are _there_ for a good reason.”

 

Newt was now walking in an odd, crouched manner, staring at the ground before him. 

 

“Ah… I think that’s a print. Actually, there’s loads of prints I can see now. See how the leaves got pushed up?”

 

Leta crouched at his side, studying the patterns in the ground. She wouldn’t have noticed the prints if Newt hadn’t pointed them out to her. But after studying one, dozens popped into her vision from the leaf-strewn forest floor around her. A picture took shape in her mind of a small herd of horses that ambled along the forest’s edge, foraging from the underbrush. 

 

“You think they’re nearby?”

 

“Might be. I’m not sure how old these are,” said Newt, waving his hand at the subtle hoof prints. “If they are about, you ought to be able to see them. Thestrals appear to those who’ve seen death.” 

 

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” said Leta, starting to smile now. 

 

Despite her nervousness, she realized how lovely it was here. It reminded her of the woods back home, where she had always sought solace. Her sorrows from the morning seemed to float away on the light breeze, and she could hear birdsongs overhead. She might as well have been a hundred miles from Hogwarts, from Rhea, and the rest of the Slytherins. And there was no one out here asking her to do a spell… There was only Newt, and he seemed far more interested in the forest floor than and hunting Thestrals than whether or not Leta was a proper witch. 

 

They ambled along the forest’s edge for quite some time. Newt occasionally interjected their comfortable silence to point out another clue in the forest floor. 

 

“Look,” said Newt, pointing at a small heap of steaming brown pellets. “Thestral dung. I think.”

 

“That’s disgusting,” said Leta, wrinkling her nose. 

 

“And fresh!” said Newt excitedly. “Look, there’s more, all around. That one’s old. This must be their primary spot. Do you see anyone?”

 

Leta peered into the woods around her. Then she saw it. A dark head, draped in paper-thin skin that revealed the hollows of a horse-like skull. The head bobbed up and down, dolefully stripping berries from the bush. She’d heard of Thestrals of course, but to see the eerie creature with her own eyes… that was entirely different. The creature was alien, skeletal… and oddly beautiful. 

 

“There!” hissed Leta. Newt looked up, eyes wide. Leta thought for a second what the scene must look like to Newt, for whom the Thestrals were invisible. “Can you see the bush moving?”

 

“Yes,” said Newt. His brow furrowed. There was a long pause. “And I can also see the Thestral.” 

 

Leta’s eyes swiveled between Newt and the Thestral. “But I thought you hadn’t seen anyone die…?”

 

“No,” said Newt, perplexed. “I haven’t… This is, um… unexpected.” 

 

The Thestral noticed them and lifted it’s strange head. It moved with the silent grace. 

 

“Newt,” hissed Leta, suddenly nervous. “Newt, it’s coming over here.” 

 

“Yes, I can see,” said Newt quietly. He was now standing very still. “There’s nothing to worry about. Thestrals are supposedly very gentle.” 

 

“Supposedly?”

 

“Yes. The herd is domesticated. They pull the Hogwarts carriages from Hogsmeade Station, don’t you know? But they lives here in the forest the rest of the time.” 

 

The lone Thestral ambled out into the clearing, nostrils flaring as it circled them. 

 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” breathed Newt, his eyes wide. The boy reached into the pocket of his robe and withdrew a shiny red apple. He extended his hand towards the Thestral, who sniffed at it. The Thestral chomped the apple, and Newt’s face broke into the widest smile Leta had ever seen. 

 

The Thestral approached Leta, bobbing its head curiously. She slowly reached out a hand. The Thestral prodded its beaky nose against her fingers. Tentatively, she stroked it’s face. She found herself grinning upon contact with the marvelous creature. The Thestral snorted appreciatively and leaned into Leta’s touch. 

 

“I’m afraid I haven’t got an apple for you,” Leta told the Thestral apologetically. But then Newt was at her side, grinning, and he pressed a second apple into the palm of her free hand. Leta held up the fruit, and the Thestral delicately accepted it. Newt’s eyes were dancing.

 

“I think he likes you,” said Newt. 

 

As if to prove Newt’s point, the Thestral knelt before Leta. 

 

“What’s it doing?” she whispered. 

 

“I… I think it’s asking you to climb on,” said Newt.

 

“What! Me?”

 

“Well, go on!”

 

“Newt, I’m not—“

 

Newt prodded her in the back of the shoulders, and Leta found herself, against better judgement, swinging a leg over the Thestral’s back. Her stomach filled with butterflies and she settled into the joint in front of the creature’s bat-like wings. Wild-eyed, she looked up at Newt. 

 

“Well aren’t you coming with me?” she asked, her voice shaking.

 

“What?”

 

She implored him with a look.

 

“Oh—all right!” 

 

A little awkwardly, Newt climbed atop the Thestral behind Leta. Newt swayed as the creature rose, and he flung his arm around Leta’s waist to steady himself

 

“Sorry,” murmured Newt. 

 

“It’s alright,” said Leta breathlessly, her own hands scrambling before her for some part of the creature to hold. There was no fur to grip. She settled for holding onto the creature’s neck as best she could. Leta yelped as the creature took off through the woods at a sudden trot. “Now, where is it taking us?”

 

“I don’t know!” cried Newt. The creature was gathering speed now. Leta ducked to avoid a branch. 

 

“Why did you think this was a good idea!” cried Leta.

 

“I didn’t!” said Newt. 

 

“You didn’t think this was a good idea—and you told me to do it anyway!” exclaimed Leta, flabbergasted as they both ducked to avoid a branch. 

 

“No!” said Newt, sounding as frightened as Leta felt. “I didn’t _think_!”

 

The Thestral was running at a breakneck speed now, whipping around trees. Newt was clutching Leta as tight as ever to avoid falling off and hitting the speeding forest floor below. 

 

“How do we make him stop?” cried Leta. 

 

But before Newt could answer, the Thestral emerged from the the woods into the sprawling meadow. Two black wings burst out at Leta’s sides. The creature gave a tremendous kick, and Leta’s stomach dropped sickeningly as the ground peeled away. 

 

“Oh my…” she said, feeling quite faint. 

 

“Wow!” said Newt. 

 

Leta felt herself slipping down the Thestral’s back as the creature fought itself upwards into the sky. She gripped it’s neck as tight as she could. The wind whipped tears from Leta’s eyes, and she blinked furiously. 

 

“Look! The castle!” cried Newt. 

 

They were rising quickly, and Leta could see the whole of Hogwarts castle below her, the moors and meadows extending around it, broken by the the Forbidden Forest, which disappeared into the horizon. The air was growing colder and the wind fiercer by the second. Rising ever higher, they scraped the belly of the gray clouds, and Leta could see the little cluster of houses in the distance that was Hogsmeade village. Leta’s teeth were now chattering fiercely. 

 

Finally, the Thestral leveled out and Leta could breathe again. She couldn’t bring herself to relax her grip on the Thestral’s neck. The creature didn’t seem to mind, for it glided serenely through the air.  

 

“Are you alright?” said Newt in her ear. 

 

“I’m freezing,” said Leta.

 

“Yes. It’s because of the altitude,” said Newt matter-of-factly through chattering teeth of his own.

 

“The castle is getting smaller… where are we going?”

 

“I suppose we’ll find out.”

 

“Oh.” 

 

Leta nervously looked over her shoulder. They were well over the lake now and the castle was growing ever smaller behind them. Newt’s grip on her was white-knuckled, but he wore the broadest grin as he squinted in the wind. 

 

Leta lost track of time. Perhaps it was because she was too chilled to be frightened, but she began to appreciate the beauty of the landscape beneath her. She had never flown a broom before, and had never seen the world from anywhere other than the ground. The craggy wilderness spread beneath her, revealing hidden river valleys and lakes. 

 

Finally, they reached the other side of the lake. 

 

“He’s dropping,” said Newt. 

 

Leta’s stomach gave a lurch as the Thestral swooped down. He circled a few times, descending hundreds of feet with each revolution, and landed with a gentle trot on the side of a low mountain overlooking the lake. The Thestral stood still, prodding at the grasses with its beak. 

 

Together, Leta and Newt stumbled from the Thestral’s back and collapsed onto the ground side-by-side, breathing heavily. Then, Leta’s breathing turned to a compulsive giggling, and Newt, too, was grinning, his eyes light and mischievous. He joined her in laughter. 

 

“I can’t believe we did that!” said Leta, elated from the thrill. 

 

“Neither can I!” said Newt. 

 

Leta cast her eyes around. The hills seemed a more vibrant green than before, the lake a glassy cobalt beneath them. It was warmer here on the ground, and the numbness was quickly leaving her fingers. The Thestral meandered not far from them, grazing lazily through the grasses on the slope.  

 

“How many miles have we flown?” 

 

Newt righted himself and looked around, blinking.

 

“Several,” he said assuredly. 

 

“It’s beautiful out here,” said Leta. “Look, you can see the castle.” She paused. “It’s very far. No one knows we’re out here…”

 

Newt shrugged as though this were inconsequential. He procured from his pocket two more apples and handed one to Leta. Newt bit into his apple, and Leta did the same. She had fled Rhea before eating lunch, and she was quite hungry after her flight. 

 

They sat there for several long minutes, side by side, munching on their apples—the Thestral looked up at them hopefully as they ate—drinking in the remote landscape around them. It was quiet here, and Leta was feeling lighter and more joyful than she could remember, deep in the wilds with Newt at her side.

 

“Newt…” she said slowly after a while. “If you can see the Thestral, you must have seen someone die.”

 

“No,” said Newt, shaking his head. “I’d remember, wouldn’t I? Although…” His eyes widened as though realizing something. “Zaphera!”

 

“What’s a Zaphera?”

 

“Zaphera was a Hippogriff. One of my mother’s breeders. Good old beast,” said Newt fondly, and he looked very sad. “She died this summer. I stayed with her through the night. First Hippogriff I ever rode.”

 

“But…. but a Hippogriff is not a person,” said Leta, frowning. 

 

Newt didn’t have an answer to this. He had turned his face away from Leta and appeared to be wiping a tear from his eye. 

 

“Maybe it doesn’t matter to the Thestrals if it was a person you saw,” said Newt after a few moments. “Thestrals are creatures so why should they care? Hippogriffs die just the same as people.”

 

Leta supposed Newt had a point. She chucked her apple core down the hill. Then she looked up, startled. The Thestral was standing over her, and prodded her with its beak. It let out a low whine. 

 

“Newt…”

 

“Sorry,” said Newt, addressing the Thestral. “I haven’t got any more apples. Those were my last two…”

 

At this, the Thestral took a step back and regarded the students. It stamped at the ground a little impatiently. Then, it spun around and took off down the hill at a run. Once it reached a speed, it flung its wings out broadly and soared off over the lake, far away from Newt and Leta. 

 

Leta, panicked, rose to her feet. She spun around, as if to implore from the vast, remote landscape around her.

 

“It’s coming back, right?” she asked Newt. 

 

Newt, who had also sprung to his feet, didn’t have an answer, but he looked worried. Without a Thestral, they were deserted on the mountainside, Hogwarts castle separated from them by miles of wilderness. 

 

“I’m going to be late for Potions, aren’t I?” said Leta with a sinking feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitchy-ass Thestral. :p
> 
> Leta and Newt sort of started having a bit of a Scorpius/Albus vibe for some reason, and I'm okay with that!

**Author's Note:**

> Fwoopers were listed in the original Fantastic Beasts book. Mostly used as a decorative pet, their song can drive people to insanity, so a silencing charm must be used by owners. Also, ownership requires a license. 
> 
> I have a headcanon that Newt is extremely gifted at Charms. Maybe overly gifted.
> 
> If you liked what you read, please leave a review! It's definitely encouraging to know there are readers out there enjoying this story.


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